Monday, June 30, 2008

People don't often feature as the main subject in my photographs. They sometimes creep in for scale, I often include them for visual "weight" in a composition, or I might add someone as a focal point in, say, a landscape. But full-on portraits, human-interest shots, or the many subjects e.g. sport, that feature people strongly, are not for me. It's not that I have anything against people: in fact, some of my best friends are people! But pointing a camera at them just doesn't appeal.

There is one photographic genre where I do make a person the focus of the image, and that is the self-portrait. I like to include one of these in the blog every now and then. However, they're usually not very revealing, are often distorted, and I can seem a bit incidental in some of the compositions. This photograph is a case in point. I was photographing in and around a Lincolnshire church when I noticed an eighteenth century chandelier hanging in the nave. Such objects are reasonably common in English churches. However, this one was hanging a bit lower than usual, and the dedicatory inscription was mainly to the side, so there was a good and clear reflection down the central aisle. Consequently, I pointed my camera at it, smiled (though you wouldn't know it), and took this shot.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

If you were to survey people on your local high street about the possible causes of the next devastation of mankind I suppose nuclear war, drought, climate change and disease might cluster around the top of any list drawn up from the results. The decline in the honey bee population would, however, be unlikely to appear at all. And yet, for the past two years a disease, about which little is known, has devastated the bees of Europe and the United States. And, since about a third of our diet comes from insect-pollinated plants, with eighty percent of that pollination done by honey bees, then perhaps we ought to be working as hard to solve this problem as we are the proliferation of nuclear weapons or the amount of carbon we pump into the atmosphere. However, before you start ordering hives and stock-piling food, you should know that Professor Francis Ratnieks, of Sussex University is a little more relaxed about the prospect of mankind's decline being precipitated by a famine that follows the demise of the honey bee. He sees the present drop in numbers as probably due to climate change or disease, and feels it's unlikely that bees will disappear entirely.

I was reminded of the two articles that provided me with this information when I was photographing some old-fashioned geraniums (sometimes called cranesbill) in my garden. The purple flowers were in full bloom, and invited an image to capture their beauty. As I framed this flower head a bee landed on it, and then did something most unusual. Instead of gathering pollen and storing it in the sacs on its legs it folded back a petal and investigated the back of the bloom! Was it deranged? Or diseased? Had it lost the ability to find pollen? Or had it lost its marbles? Was I seeing evidence of the affliction that is causing so much concern amongst the bee-keeping fraternity? But then, apparently satisfied that there was nothing of interest behind the petals, it moved on to the next flower head and did what all good bees do - it loaded up with the yellow stuff! However, I did get a shot of this interesting bee behaviour. So, if you read that a learned professor has discovered that the decline in bee numbers is due to them wasting time searching the backs of flowers, rather than getting straight down to business, remember that you read it here first!

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

High Street is one of the two most common street names to be found in England. Virtually every town and city, and many villages, feature a street with this name. "High" in the sense it is used here means "main". When street naming began in the New World it was the latter word that was chosen to prevent any confusion with "raised" or "elevated". Interestingly, when naming new thoroughfares the word "street" is much less used in England than formerly. House builders fancy that they can more easily sell a new row of houses if the address is anything but "street". So we have avenues, groves, lanes, chases, gardens, closes, places, leaps, ways, forges and even roads.

The second of the most common street names is Church Street. Most settlements had a church, and as they grew more were built. This simple descriptive name was an obvious choice. Where it was eschewed, it was often the name of the building's dedicatory saint that described the road, thus St George's Street or All Saints Road. For obvious reasons, in most villages, towns and cities, the High Street and Church Street are usually two of the oldest roads, and will frequently still have some of the most ancient and interesting buildings.

Today's photograph shows Church Street in Boston, Lincolnshire. Here the street is behind the Market Place, and leads from it to the south porch (the main entrance) of St Botolph. With a tower 272 feet high Boston's church creeps into many shots taken in the town. Here I framed it with the cobbles of the street, the Britannia pub, the row of shops on the opposite side, and the soft, white, summer clouds.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The other day, as I stood on a footbridge over the River Welland in Stamford, Lincolnshire, I thought about fishing - the sort that you do with a rod and line. Judging by all the newly created "fishing ponds" that I've passed in recent years, the number of people wanting to pursue this sport must exceed the water available. And, each time I see a group of fishermen sat around one of these ponds I wonder just what is the attraction?

Several years ago, when I was in France I watched, open-mouthed, as fishermen sat round a pond pulling massive carp after massive carp out of the water. They stored them in their keep-nets, then at the end of their session, put them back in the pond. Maybe they weighed them; maybe they kept one or two for eating, I don't recall. However, it looked like "shooting fish in a barrel". It seemed to require no skill on their part, and they always caught a "big un". The only time I've pursued this sport was for a year or so in my youth when I fished the rocky River Ribble in the Yorkshire Dales and had a few goes on the River Lune near Kirkby Lonsdale. Here the skill was to find the location that held some fish (brown trout, grayling and salmon were the main quarry) then decide whether to use a lure, float or fly to catch them. The best areas to fish would change with the season and the height of the water. So, local knowledge and skill was necessary. I remain to be convinced that much of either is necessary when fishing a small pond that is stocked by man rather than nature. The incidentals that I enjoyed all those years ago - walking the bank, dodging the trees, wading into the shallows, standing on rocks, and watching the plentiful wildlife as I waited for a "bite" - also seem to be absent. However, there is clearly some pleasure to be had from casting from the edge of a pond or this pastime woudn't be proliferating. Perhaps the reason I can't see it is linked to the reason that caused me to cast aside my rod after such a short time. Truly, freshwater fishing can be a puzzling sport!

So why was I thinking about fishing as I surveyed this verdant river view. Well, try as I might, I couldn't see a single fish in the water. They must have been there, but hiding! I've pointed my camera at this particular view before but never taken the shot. However, this time the boats, the water, the trees, and particularly the light, made it work better as a photograph. So I pressed the shutter.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Everything associated with a railway seems made to last - the buildings, the track, the rolling stock - everything. Yesterday I was looking at a steam engine that was built in the 1880s. Some of the metal-work was dented, some was worn, and some seemed as fresh as the day it was made. Parts of the structure will have been replaced during a renovation, but a couple of the steps up to the coal tender were clearly the originals, and though they showed signs of wear, they probably had a couple more centuries of use in them!

What a contrast with, say, the modern motor car. Use one carefully, spend a fortune on maintenance, repairs and replacement parts, and it might, at a push, give you a mere twenty years of regular use. I suppose the argument can be made that newer, safer, and more efficient technology will come along in that time, so building a car to last longer is counter productive and wasteful. And there are those who will say that the steam engine I admired was "over-built" because its parts didn't need to be made to last so long. Maybe, but isn't one of the world's problems that we keep using up resources to make things, then we throw them away! Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned from our Victorian forbears, namely that we can make things to last and we should. I've often waxed lyrical about the idea of an open-source, modular car, with the essential components built to a standard, interchangeable, and as easy to put together and upgrade as a PC. I'm sure there's a market for such a vehicle.

I don't know how old this railway carriage is. When I came across it the wheels had been removed and it was waiting to be renovated. Its steel frame, and the covering of wood and glass, looked in pretty good condition considering it's probably seventy or eighty (or more) years old. Many of these carriages ended up, years ago, as cheap summer houses and garden sheds. It looks as though this one might return to its original life on the rails, carrying passengers, albeit on a heritage line.

Friday, June 20, 2008

A couple of weeks ago I spent a few days cycling around Rutland, Northamptonshire and Lincolnshire. I was looking at church architecture, travelling from village to village on quiet country roads. That corner of England has many stone-built churches and houses, and the wonderful architectural legacy that they represent is the product of local builders and architects, and of the quarrymen of Barnack, Collyweston and Ancaster.

The churches date from the 1100s to the present day, but most of the houses go back no further than 1600. Cycling through a village one notices how the style of these buildings changes over the centuries, moving from "mud and stud", to rubble walls, cut stone, and locally made brick. There is a fair sprinkling of thatched roofs, many of split stone tiles, orange clay pantiles, and from the nineteenth century onwards, Welsh slate. Humble homes have low-ceilinged rooms, rough stone and mortar walls, small windows, and dormers poking up through the roof. Grander buildings use cut stone (ashlar), have columned and pedimented doorways, tall windows, string courses and carved classical ornament. The history of the development of the settlements can be read through their architecture. However, one development that was slightly depressing was the number of "cod-old" (sorry "traditional") buildings that were being erected. These were traditional only in the sense that they borrowed the details of the original houses and stuck them on a twenty first century frame. One large house I saw under construction was made of concrete blocks, steel girders and timber, but a veneer of thin stone slabs, stone mullioned and transomed windows, and a cornice was being carefully applied to the outside by a "builder of traditional homes". No doubt the columned doorway was stored somewhere, ready to complete the transformation. I'd much rather have seen modern, imaginative buildings of today, that respect their context being built, structures that add to the story of the village rather than plunder and mock it as these sham-old properties do.

Today's photograph shows part of a street in Stamford, Lincolnshire. I liked the way that the buildings clearly show the styles and incremental additions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as well as the variety of materials and the pleasant jumble of the roofs, walls and windows.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

As I prepared this post I noticed it is the 400th* since I began the blog on December 23rd 2005.

I started PhotoReflect to give my photography a focus and to try and improve the quality of my images. I think it has done that, and the comments and emails I receive seem to suggest it's so too. The short pieces that have accompanied each post were also designed to challenge me. In the early days of the blog I found coming up with subjects fairly easy. Lately it's been harder! The quality of my writing seemed to improve as the months passed, but then levelled off. Lately, it's maybe slipped back a touch!

The interruptions that there have been due to work and moving house proved to be useful in that I came back to posting re-energised, with a backlog of photographs to work through, and some fresh topics to discuss. At the moment I'm finding the time for photography and "reflecting", but the time will surely come when I'll take another break. I've had a several emails asking me why the facility to comment has been removed. The one word answer is "Spam". I may return the feature at some point in the future, but it will probably be moderated i.e. I'll have to read and approve each one before it's posted. In the meantime I've been happy to get emails from regular correspondents and the occasional new reader, and I hope you'll continue to send me your feedback. I'm currently revising my "Best of PhotoReflect", and I'll let you know when that's ready to view.

I can't let this milestone pass without saying that the feedback I've had through this blog, and on the photography forums where I post, has invariably been positive, insightful and helpful, and has played a big part in helping me to improve my photography and keep finding the images. Thank you everyone!

Today's photograph is some tree bark I came across in a busy town centre. I think it's a plane tree (Platanus hispanica), but I'd be happy to be corrected if anyone knows otherwise.

* Some of you may have added up each year's total, arrived at 396, and are now wondering about my facility with mathematics. The fact is, for very specific reasons, I've recently removed 4 of the older posts.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

The styling of cars goes in waves - one decade, say the 1970s, it's all angular edges like the origami folds of the first VW Golf. Move on ten years and curves are back. Then, just as we've got used to those, retro pops its head up in the guise of cars like the PT Cruiser, the "new" Beetle and the re-vamped Mini. So too with clothing fashions. Year after year corduroy jackets are available, then suddenly the rails sport not a one. You resign yourself to life without this essential, then one day are amazed to see them back again!

I thought about this the other day when I was looking at a photograph of a group of "WAGS" in my newspaper. For the uninitiated these are the "wives and girlfriends" of our over-paid Premier League footballers. As with cars and clothing their appearance has converged to a "type" that is tanned, lip-glossed, ear-ringed, with long streaked blond hair, short skirts, and a glass of champagne in the right hand. How, I wondered, do their partners tell one from the other? And does it matter? However, my wife was on hand to enlighten me: "That's what the tattoos are for!" she perceptively said. I hadn't thought about it before, but there had to be a reason for tattoos beyond vanity and group identity: and, after it was pointed out to me, their role in helping their men to tell one from the other now seems so obvious. Maybe, in time, today's tribal patterns, fey flowers and dinky Chinese script will gradually evolve to a more functional tattooed barcode that more properly reflects their status as the property of the rich? Now that I know the real purpose of these tattoos life makes a little more sense than it did!

What has this to do with a close-up of a peony bloom? Well, colour combinations come and go in waves too. Turquoise paired with brown has recently forced itself on my consciousness, appearing on household goods ranging from duvet covers to place mats. The designs have a retro/Op Art/1960s feel. Presumably one designer felt it was time to look back, and the rest agreed. I hope that pairing pink with yellow isn't the next combination. This mixture reminds me of ice-creams and fun fairs - a garish combination that no right minded person would put together. However, it is said that the colours in nature never clash, and though I have seen the occasional garden planting that disproves that rule, it is broadly true. So I do like the pink and yellow as it occurs in this plant in the photograph. I captured the bloom on my window sill, a warm shaft of sunlight to the left, the colder light of the room to the right. I increased the intensity of the blue just a touch to introduce a third colour to the ensemble.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Many architectural historians consider that the district of South Lincolnshire, long known as Holland, has the best group of medieval churches that England can offer. During the middle ages the flat landscape of the Fenlands echoed to the cry of sheep, and it was on the back of these animals that masterpieces such as St Botolph at Boston, St Mary at Long Sutton, and St Mary Magdalene at Gedney were built. Virtually every village in this area has an old church, often begun in the 1100s, added to in the 1200s and 1300s, and given a major overhaul or expansion in the 1400s using the money that flowed from the wool that made it one of England's most affluent localities.

St Peter & St Paul, Algarkirk (shown above) is one of the lesser known churches of this part of Lincolnshire. A cruciform building, it was begun in the 1200s, completed in the 1400s, and given a major restoration by R. C. Carpenter in 1850-4. At a time when the Victorian restorers were often heavy-handed, replacing old with new, and re-modelling with great insensitivity, The Ecclesiologist described Algarkirk as a model of refurbishment "so good it could hardly be improved upon". Tractarian principles were applied, with Carpenter aiming to be faithful to the design and spirit of what he found. So, new window tracery was modelled on the decayed original designs and examples from old drawings of the building: new choir stalls were based on delicate fourteenth century models rather than the current heavy Victorian style. Today the church sits in stately splendour in its churchyard, barely a mile from its contemporary neighbour, St Mary the Virgin at Sutterton, as much a pleasure to our eye as it must have been to the original builders.

Why is my title Algarkirk rather than Algarkirk church? In the Domesday Book of 1086 the settlement is called Alfgare which is thought to be an old Danish personal name (the area was settled by Danes in the early middle ages.) In 1174 it is called Algarescherche, adding the Old English "cirice" (church) to a variant of the original name. But, by 1212 the Old Norse for church (kirk or kirkja) was used and the village became Algarekirke. Clearly the building of this church that we see today resulted in the village name changing to incorporate its largest building. It is that which renders the additional word "church" superfluous in my title!

Friday, June 13, 2008

What are the most frequently photographed subjects. Well, if we're considering the average snapper, then it's probably babies and children, closely followed by holiday views. Amateur photographers have a fascination with sunsets, though people are also popular, as are landscapes. Birds and insects have gone from niche genres to mainstream, and some men (it's always men!) seem to photograph nothing but cars or motorcycles. All of these are perfectly reasonable subjects for the camera, and it's possible to take a perfectly good (or great) shot of each.

There is, however, a subject that attracts the casual snapper and the amateur in equal measure, and which is quite difficult to photograph well. I refer to running water! Many are seduced by the twinkle of light on a moving stream and try to capture it in a still image. They never do. Some place a neutral density filter over the lens and blur the water, making it look like fog flowing along. It creates an odd effect that some like. But the fact is, that what people see and like about flowing water just can't be captured on still photographs. To do the subject justice requires video.

A field of barley is another subject that also needs moving images to show the shimmering beauty of eddies of wind as they move across its silky green surface. However, that didn't stop me trying to get something of that flickering quality recorded on my camera sensor! In the absence of neutral density filters, on a dull day I selected a small aperture and low ISO, and photographed the barley as the strong wind whipped the seed heads back and forth. It took several shots to get something I liked. Does it capture that ethereal quality? Of course not. But it suggests it, and I'll make do with that!

Thursday, June 12, 2008

As a teenage birdwatcher I used to travel to a reservoir deep in the hills to view ducks and other waterbirds. However, in the late 1960s and early 1970s the reservoirs of England were pretty much no go areas, and I had to view from a public road or a footpath. Signs around the fenced off reservoir said "Keep Out!" backed by threats of heavy fines. Other notices reminded me that it was my drinking water and needed to be kept pure! What did they think I had in mind? The surrounding forest was also out of bounds to the public (the danger of fire seemed to be the justification) despite, like the reservoir, being publicly owned.

Today reservoir managers positively encourage visitors, and provide facilities for their enjoyment. I used part of the cycle track around Rutland Water (above), and very pleasant it was too. Forests now have waymarked paths and mountain bike trails. In both kinds of locations wildlife (and wildlife watching) is positively encouraged, with hides and visitor centres This is a far cry from the restrictive days of forty years ago and a very welcome improvement.

However, a recent development in towns and cities runs contrary to this liberalising trend. So-called "malls without walls" - large shopping centres built by private companies - are being erected that include privately owned streets. These are thoroughfares that are privately policed, and that can exclude "undesirables". Liverpool One, a development of 42.5 acres with 35 streets in the middle of Liverpool is the latest such scheme. It follows others in places like London, Sheffield and Hove. I think such projects need to be carefully monitored. Any limitation of our right to move freely through our cities by private companies curtails our freedom. Will photographers, for example, face the restrictions in these streets that are commonly placed on them in covered shopping malls. For further information see this article in The Guardian newspaper.

My photograph was taken at the edge of Rutland Water where anglers' boats for hire are moored. When I looked at the boats on a different photograph I took I noticed the highest numbered vessel was 61. Poor fish, I thought, if they were all to to set sail at once!

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

"It always is wretched weather according to us. The weather is like the government — always in the wrong. In summer-time we say it is stifling; in winter that it is killing; in spring and autumn we find fault with it for being neither one thing nor the other and wish it would make up its mind...We shall never be content until each man makes his own weather and keeps it to himself." from "Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow", Jerome K. Jerome (1859-1927), English author

The quotation above pretty much sums up the British attitude to the weather - there's always too much of it and it's always the wrong sort! I suppose that attitude (and the penchant for holidays where the sun always shines and the temperature is always high) comes from living on a damp, cloudy, windy island where three kinds of weather each day is not unusual. But will this always be our attitude? There's a good chance that global warming will lead to Britain's weather being seen as highly desirable. Increasing warmth and plentiful rainfall could well be the envy of many countries. And, in an age of rising fuel prices those regular westerlies offer the prospect of wind-generated electricity for all. But for that to happen the people of these islands must get over their NIMBY-based opposition to turbines.

Yesterday I watched a wonderful feat of skill and engineering as the blades of a wind turbine were assembled at the base of its tower and then lifted into place. Cranes, men on the end of steadying ropes, and a man standing on top of the column (can you see him?) all performed a sort of high-tech ballet to elevate and rotate the assembly and place it on its nacelle. On the flat Fenland landscape of Lincolnshire the turbines can be seen for miles. Perhaps, in time, people will see them as spinning beacons of a greener, reliable energy supply, rather than blots on the landscape, and realise that for Britain's energy needs the answer is (at least in part) "blowin' in the wind." Cue harmonica, acoustic guitar and wailing, nasal voice!

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

One of my favourite Pop Art titles is "Donald Duck Meets Mondrian". This wacky painting is by the Scottish sculptor and painter, Eduardo Paolozzi (1924-2005). In 1947 Paolozzi created a collage, "I was a rich man's plaything" (he went in for great titles!), which is often considered to be the first piece of the Pop Art movement. In his later career the artist worked mainly on sculptures. Many will know his 1995 bronze, "Newton", at the British Library in London: others may recognise his cover for the 1973 Paul McCartney/Wings album, "Red Rose Speedway".

Of course, Paolozzi isn't the first artist that comes to mind when Pop Art is mentioned: that would undoubtedly be the American, Andy Warhol (1928-1987). His rise from commercial illustrator to film maker, record producer and painter (well silk-screen printer) of the rich and famous is well-chronicled and the subject of a number of biopics. I'm not a big fan of Warhol's work: his images, for me, are a matter of "what you see is all you get" - all surface, with no depth. But, it has to be said, the surface is interesting and distinctive, and Warhol is an artist whose style is recognisable across a whole segment of his images. The flat, strong colour, bold shapes, and variations on a theme are familiar to the layman in a way that the work of many better artists is not.

My image today is an affectionate and humorous homage to Warhol, and the title is a nod towards Paolozzi. It takes the idea of repeated versions of the same subject, say, Jackie Kennedy, depicted in loud colours, placed alongside each other. My subject is a touch more everyday than Warhol's became - an Allium from my garden!

Monday, June 09, 2008

Mankind, it seems, has an innate desire to hang on to parts of the past. This is, by and large, a good trait, because knowing where we've come from (the past), helps us to understand our (present) context, and can inform our course of action for tomorrow (the future). But, sometimes, we've just got to let go or we become like Dickens' Miss Haversham in "Great Expectations", forever looking back, trying to hold on to a past that has gone, and making fools of ourselves.

When, in the 1970s, the 3,500 acre reservoir that is now Rutland Water was created, several farms, many cottages, and Normanton Park was inundated. But, a decision was taken to "save" St Matthew, the Park's church. The nave and chancel date from 1764. The west end (including the tower) are by Cockerell, and replaced a medieval tower when they were added in 1826-9. Further alterations took place in 1911. As churches go it is not without interest, but it isn't of more than local architectural importance. However, Cockerell's work is held in high regard, and that was probably the decisive factor that led to its being preserved. But what a preservation. An artificial spit of stone and concrete was arranged around the ground floor of the church leaving only the upper floor, tower and roof showing.

Today St Matthew is the Rutland Water Museum, with stairs down to the floor below water level. It looks, frankly, ridiculous - the top half of a church poking up out of the rubble and water. Virtually any other course of action would have treated the building with more dignity than the one chosen . If funds were not available to disassemble it and reassemble it elsewhere, then the significant architectural parts could have been removed and erected on the shore, leaving the rest to its watery grave. When I came to compose a photograph of this sad building I noticed a fly-fisherman by the water's edge, and thought he'd make some good foreground interest and give it a bit of context.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

The English village churchyard has always been a place of utility. All began life as a graveyard, a place where parishioners were laid to rest, originally in unmarked graves. However, from the seventeenth century onwards tombstones of varying degrees of expense and ornament became much more widely used. As the population outgrew the space available for burial new graveyards were made, often at some distance from the church. Today it is relatively unusual to find burials still being made in the original churchyard. Churchyards were also places where the English longbowman, that scourge of the French knights at Crecy and Agincourt, practiced their art. Yew trees growing amongst the tombs sometimes provided the wood for their weapon. Local politics and education was often carried out in the churchyard and its surrounds, and boards and doors bore official notices and declarations.

In the past forty or so years churchyards have seen many changes. "Dangerous" monuments have been taken down. In some places the oldest and most ornate tombstones have been lined up around perimeter walls leaving an expanse of green that is easy to mow and keep "tidy". More enlightened parishes realised the environmental value of the churchyard, and left some wild areas, put up bird and bat nest boxes, and encouraged wild plants, increasing the biodiversity. And many have created attractive garden areas, with colour through all the seasons, a joy to the eye, and an attractive counterpoint to the ancient stonework of church and grave.

Today's photograph illustrates one of the latter examples, and shows the path to the south door at St Mary, Manton, in Rutland. Both sides of this lovely cobbled way are planted with a variety of flowering perennials that brighten your passage and seem to beckon you into this marvellous old building that dates from the twelfth to the fifteenth century.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

"The camera never lies" and "It's just like a photograph" are two of the most quoted sayings about cameras and photographs, and they state two popular misconceptions about the power of photography. The first quotation suggests that an image produced by a camera is a perfect representation of reality, and the second, that reality (say a landscape) is comparable to a photograph. The truth is that the camera always lies, and reality isn't like a photograph.

Technical illustrators have long understood the shortcomings of the photograph. Have a look at a manual from the 1960s or 1970s for a car or a camera. The chances are that the illustrations are drawings. Now you'd think that a camera manufacturer (in particular) would use their own products to illustrate their manuals. But no, they understood that if you want clarity you don't want "reality". So, for much of the second half of the twentieth century these (and other publications) used monochrome line drawings combined with airbrush work to give the clearest view of their wares. The shading was limited to the amount necessary for modelling the form of the object, and the lines were used to clearly show the parts that needed to be seen. These drawings exemplify another well-known saying - "a picture is worth a thousand words!"

Today's photograph of a steel and glass spiral staircase in a museum, with its over-all greyness and clear lines, reminded me of that type of drawing. The materials and the lighting reduced the depth of the shadows (necessary for health and safety reasons), and the emphasis given to the hand-rail and the step edges (for similar reasons) gave a linear quality. Converting the image to black and white completed the effect and triggered my reflections above. Incidentally, that type of illustration is still to be found in many of today's manuals, though often it's the digital pen, ink and airbrush of a computer programme such as Adobe Illustrator that accomplishes the work.

Monday, June 02, 2008

The other day I stood on a bridge in Cambridge watching tourists and students wielding their poles to propel their punts along the River Cam, past the colleges that line its banks. The action of standing precariously on the end of a boat and repeatedly dipping and pushing struck me as an odd method of propulsion. I remarked as much to my companions, and one suggested that it perhaps arose from the desire of the well-to-do to enjoy the water without working up a sweat. That struck me as an interesting thought, but not very likely. I suggested that it was probably a method devised by working people, seized upon by the inhabitants of Cambridge and its colleges. And, because I didn't know the answer, I determined to find out.

It seems that using a pole to propel a flat-bottomed punt arose during medieval times in the marshes, pools and waterways of the Fenlands that formed an arc around The Wash to the north of Cambridge. These shallow waters were subject to seasonally fluctuating water levels, and keeled boats and oars were less suitable for the fishing, wildfowling and reed cutting that sustained many "breedlings" (the name given to Fen dwellers). The punt was introduced to Cambridge in the Edwardian era as a pleasure craft for the moneyed middle and upper classes. Furthermore, far from being precarious, this way of moving the punt is relatively safe due to the stability conferred by that flat-bottom. So, another lesson learned!

The day was overcast with low cloud when I took my photograph, giving good colour saturation. Probably not the jolliest boating weather, but it wasn't deterring the visitors. However, the water looked cold and it didn't appeal to me!